Until he caught her.
“Is that when he started hitting you?” Skye asked.
Sheridan pulled her hands away so she could cover her eyes.
“Sher?” Skye moved closer, and rubbed her back soothingly.
“Yes,” she breathed. “He—he picked something up. Like a bat, but it was probably a—a heavy stick or piece of wood. He hit me with it. Again and again and again. Until I couldn’t see because of all the blood in my eyes. My ears rang and I couldn’t think straight. I didn’t know where I was, who I was.”
“What made him stop? Did you pass out again?”
“No. I knew I had to quit fighting, make him believe he’d won. So I went limp.”
“Did it work?”
“He kicked me to see if I’d move, but I didn’t. I had nothing left. I just lay there. I felt as if I was floating outside my own body, watching this brutality.”
“Did he say anything? Did you hear his voice?”
“He said, ‘Stupid bitch. Now you’re going to pay.’ As if I’d done something to him.”
“What was his voice like?”
“A hoarse whisper. That was all. It was barely audible.”
Skye cursed in frustration and disappointment, but she wasn’t willing to give up. “And then what’d he do?”
The rest was a blur. Sheridan supposed she’d faded in and out of consciousness during the next few minutes. “I don’t know.”
“What do you think he did?”
“I assume he went back for the shovel, then dragged me deeper into the woods. Because the next time I came around, he was digging my grave.”
“God.” Tears filled her friend’s eyes. “He was going to bury you? It’s a miracle you’re alive.”
Sheridan thought of Cain. I can’t wait. I want to be inside you… He was inside her, all right, in her heart, in her blood. And she doubted she’d ever get him out. “I wouldn’t be, if he hadn’t been interrupted.”
“Interrupted?”
“We were on Cain’s property. When his dogs started barking, he got out of bed to see what was going on. Then the man with the shovel ran away. At least, I think he did. I don’t remember anything other than staring up at the stars—until my hospital room came into view.”
Skye plucked at the worn edge of the sofa. “Cain got you to a hospital?”
“Yes.”
Blinking away tears, Skye shook her head. “You almost died.”
Sheridan didn’t respond. Skye was only reacting to her own fear and anger—but pointing out how close she’d been to death wasn’t making her feel any better.
Skye seemed to understand that they had to focus on some more constructive goal. She cleared her throat. “Do you recall anything unusual about the man who attacked you, Sher? A…a mannerism? A smell? A sound? His clothing? The way he moved? His size? Anything?”
“He had an average build. He was quiet and cautious but very, very determined. And he wore gloves—I remember the feel of them around my neck.” It wasn’t much, and Sheridan knew it.
“That’s it? What about his vehicle?”
“I don’t remember a vehicle. I mean, he had to get me from here to Cain’s property somehow. It’s a fifteen-minute drive. But I didn’t come around until he was carrying me into the woods.”
“There has to be something else,” Skye pressed. “Something distinctive.”
Sheridan wracked her brain for the tiniest detail. She remembered her attacker’s grunts as he struck her, his palpable rage, his unyielding response when she began to plead.
And then a memory that’d been lost in the deep well of her unconsciousness floated to the surface.
“The bastard had to have it all.”
“What?” Skye said, leaning closer.
“That’s what he whispered when I went limp. He was standing over me, holding whatever he’d been using for a club, breathing heavily, and he muttered, ‘The bastard had to have it all.’”
“Who was he talking about?”
“I don’t know. Maybe Cain. We were on his property.”
Skye waited, obviously hoping for more. But there was no more. Tossing her purse on the coffee table, she finally got up and crossed the room to look out the window. “Have the police been here yet?”
Cain had said they’d been there but hadn’t found anything of importance. “Yes.”
Skye glanced around. “Who cleaned up?”
“The police?”
“Are you dreaming?” She turned back to the window.
Skye was right. Sheridan had never known the police to clean up a crime scene. That was typically hired out. Or a family member had to do it, even with the most gruesome of murders. But this was a small town, and small towns had their own way of doing things. It was possible that someone on the police force had been kind enough to clean up the mess, but somehow she knew it was Cain. He seemed to take care of everything.
Hands on her hips, Skye pivoted to face her. “So what do you think? Are you really going to be able to tolerate sleeping here?”
Sheridan was well aware of the money it would cost them to stay at the motel, but she wasn’t eager to be back in this place. “How long are you planning to stay?”
“A week. Maybe two.”
“What about David and the kids?”
“They’ll be fine. It’s not as if I go out of town very often.”
“I don’t think you’ve ever left them before.”
“But I can trust David to look after himself and the kids. I want to help you. I want to solve this so you can go home with me.”
As touched as Sheridan was by her support, she couldn’t let Skye put her life on hold for more than a few days. “No, Skye, you have to go back sooner than that. We can’t both be gone from The Last Stand at the same time. Ava’s new. She’s probably in a panic. And you said yourself that Jonathan’s on a big case. What help can he be to her?”
Skye arched an eyebrow at her. “They’ll manage, okay?”
Obviously, Skye was refusing to be practical. She was letting her heart rule her head—but she’d have to reverse that eventually. “This isn’t convenient for you.”
“And it’s convenient for you?”
Sheridan stood and began to wander around the kitchen. The fridge held a few of the groceries she’d bought. She didn’t know what’d happened to the rest. There was no garbage or dishes in the sink. “You could get hurt if you’re mixed up in this, Skye. I can’t worry about you in addition to everything else.”